


hold your sadness like a puppet, keep putting on the play

by pinkpunkmetal (orphan_account)



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, when will i ever stop venting and putting all my problems on virgil lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24110797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pinkpunkmetal
Summary: everybody knows that it is all about the things that get stuck inside of your head
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	hold your sadness like a puppet, keep putting on the play

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS (aka: a mandatory disclaimer)  
> okay so, this work is a rewrite for one of my old one shots. said one shot is still on here, somewhere, since i orphaned it on an old account a really long time ago, and i unfortunately can't take it down even though i really wish i could. i'm saying this in case any of you find the original one. it's all mine, i'm not copying anyone, enjoy the shitshow yall. 
> 
> i know that i never upload but virgil's playlist (both the title and the summary of this shot are from sunrise, sunset by bright eyes) helped me to get back on track a little so im back with another vent one shot! (because i can't write anything else apparently, but hey, it helps me, so why not publish it right?) and while it's not one of my best works at all, i still like it
> 
> if you find any typos, sorry! i'm posting this late at night so i probably didn't notice a couple of things
> 
> warnings: there's mentions of counting calories, skipping meals and smoking

Virgil stared up at his bedroom ceiling, waiting for his alarm to go off, signaling that it was time for him to tear himself out of his bed only to be faced with the overly suffocating world that stood outside of his - just as suffocating and overwhelming, to him at least - room. 

He wiped his face with the back of his hands, a comfort gesture he had picked up sometime as a child, almost as if he was trying to dry nonexistent tears from his cheeks - nonexistent, he had stopped crying hours prior to that moment. It was ‘getting bad’ for him again, he spent countless nights fighting off the dark thoughts that lurked in his mind, he wasted days sleeping away to hide from everyone that even tried to come near him, and perhaps, from himself too. 

He had even thought about dying. Once, or maybe twice. Probably more, but he paid little to no mind to it. He pretended not to care - even though the truth was that he was scared, scared of everything that he had become, of everything that his thoughts entailed. 

He was fine, though, or at least he pretended to be. 

His alarm went off, and he groaned, much like a teenager in a stereotypical movie would, the piercing noise too much for the early hours of the day, and he turned it off. It was six in the morning. 

He rolled out of bed, and stood on his shaky legs, his head swimming with what wasn't quite pain, but something of that nature, and he cursed under his breath, grabbing his phone from his bedside table - he shot a quick good morning text to Roman, the only person that made his days a little better, even if only a little - and he slipped a cigarette and his lighter from the pack that had been carelessly thrown on the floor the evening before. 

He made his way into his bathroom. The house was quiet - Virgil’s parents were already off to work, or doing god knows what - the only sounds echoing through the empty rooms was the one of Virgil rummaging through the medicine drawer for some painkillers and the one of the rain splashing and hitting the windows. . 

He looked at himself in the mirror that stood over the sink, a familiar reflection staring right back at him, bloodshot, glazed over eyes, overly pale skin, dead looking - and feeling - hair dyed a fading shade of purple. The only word on his mind was the word ugly, the same word so many people - including himself - had spat at him with malicious intents for years. 

He stopped looking for the pills, he couldn’t find any, and made his way to the kitchen, lighting the cigarette he had grabbed from his bedside table moments earlier - something that his mother would’ve hated him for, but she wasn’t there and he didn’t care about her rules, especially the ones that he deemed stupid. 

He started up a pot of coffee, and stared as it slowly filled up. He once loved this, he once loved breakfast, getting ready every morning with his mother, watching morning cartoons. He missed being a kid. He missed being innocent, he missed being a perfect child in his parents’ minds - straight, smart, thin, conventionally attractive, straight, athletic, straight, successful, and straight, straight, straight. He missed when he didn’t really know his parents, when their opinions weren’t opinions that mattered, because he wasn’t one of the others - he wasn’t one of the freaks that dressed in all black and wore makeup and kissed boys. They didn’t care about him anymore, and Virgil supposed that he was one of the lucky ones, he hadn’t been kicked out or hurt, just ignored. 

He was fine, though, or at least he pretended to be. 

He sat on the counter of the kitchen, a cup of black - because black coffee didn’t have calories, did it? And his hands shook, but he pretended not to notice- bitter coffee in his hand and his cigarette in the other, making his way through both of them, just staring mindlessly at everything in the dimly lit kitchen and at nothing at all at the same time. 

He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out against the edge of a trash bin before throwing it inside, and he put his empty cup in the sink, his hands still twitchy. 

He went back into his room, and slipped out of his sleeping clothes - a pair of worn down sweatpants and a shirt stained with who knows what - and got dressed with the same clothes he wore almost every single day, a black hoodie, and black jeans, and sharpie scribbled shoes that had seen better days, and they definitely weren’t weather appropriate, but it didn’t really matter to him, he saw little to no point in keeping warm when he was always cold, and it’s not like his mother cared enough to buy him new shoes anyway. He pulled on some bracelets - those thick rubber ones with band names and logos etched into them - to cover up his wrists. 

He didn’t dare to look at his body in the full length mirror that stood in front of him, even for one second. He was fine, though. He pretended to be. 

He entered his bathroom again, and finished getting ready, his actions slow, precise, almost mechanical. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror above the sink again. 

“I look like shit” He whispered to himself, his voice a rough, strained, almost. 

He smeared makeup under his eyes, and thought about himself again. He wasn’t what he was supposed to be, and the thought haunted him again, and again, and he knew that he hated himself, and he wished he could have snapped out of it, but he couldn’t. He was everything that he had learnt to despise - everything from his clothes to his face, from the chipped nail polish on his fingers to the makeup he wore, he was a freak that wore all black and kissed boys. 

He wondered how Roman could even claim to love him. He wondered how he had friends, he wondered if they ever talked about him behind his back, he wondered how bad they actually all hated him - because they had to hate him, because why wouldn’t they hate him when he couldn’t even love himself?

He was fine, though, he just had to suck it up. 

He tugged on a coat, grabbed his backpack, and stepped outside. 

He started to walk, the hood of his coat wrapped tightly around his head, headphones in - with the music so loud he couldn’t even hear himself think anymore, and he deemed that to be a good thing - his hands slowly going numb from the cold, his eyes looking down at his shoes, watching as the rain soaked them. He walked, and walked, and walked, his legs aching from the quick pace he had decided on, the bag on his back dragging him down. His head ached with a dull pain again, and he gritted his teeth and just kept on walking, wishing that his shitty day would end already, even though it had barely started. 

He turned up his music a little more, and just tried to think about nothing as he reached his destination, the bus stop. It was still dark out, and he was the only one around, it being only around seven in the morning. 

He waited for the bus, each minute stretching out for what felt like forever, and he waited and waited, feeling the rain starting to soak through his hood, and he stared into nothing until he saw his bus pull up to the stop, and he walked on. He sat on one of the cheap plastic seats, right behind the driver’s seat - as always - and rested his head against the cold window, giving his now throbbing head some relief. 

He watched as water droplets dripped down on the glass, and he watched as the grey city slowly came alive as he made his way across town and the sun started to shine dully through the cloudy sky. He saw people walking, sometimes alone, sometimes in small groups, their coats or scarves secured tightly around their faces, hoods up to protect themselves from the rain, he watched as mothers shared their umbrellas with children, as older kids walked together to school, as couples walked close to each other, sometimes holding hands, oftentimes not . 

He felt upset all of a sudden. He started to worry at his bottom lip, biting away at it until a drop of crimson blood dripped down his chin from a cut he had caused himself. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve, and watched as it disappeared in the black fabric. 

He was fine, though. 

He let himself relax in his seat a little and tried to think happy thoughts. He thought about Roman. he thought about his arms around him and he tried to think about everything that made Roman, well, Roman, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread - and jealousy, maybe, from watching people being so happy, even though he’d never admit to himself or anyone else that he was envious of them - from the back of his mind. 

The bus stopped, snapping Virgil out of his thoughts, he slipped out of his seat, and started to walk once again, this time towards his school - probably one of the places he hated the most, from all the fake people to the bad teachers to the fact that he couldn’t even hold hands with Roman on school grounds in fear of getting fucking jumped by the next jock who thought he was hot shit and his group of equally as dumb friends. 

He plastered a neutral expression, and tried not to look at anyone as he looked for Roman in the crowd of students that gathered under whatever place could provide even the smallest amount of safety from the pouring rain, 

He looked, and looked, and finally found his boyfriend, his bright red umbrella standing out in the mass of people - and honestly, Virgil would’ve recognized him even without him standing out like that - and he made his way towards him. Roman turned around as soon as he saw him, and he smiled, and Virgil smiled back, only if a little. 

Roman walked towards him, holding out his umbrella to cover Virgil as well, and he spoke, a simple “Hey” 

“Hi” Virgil replied in a small voice, his voice strained even to his own ears, and he saw Roman’s smile fall a little, concern painting his features in a way Virgil had seen many times.

He was fine, though, or, at least, he was going to pretend to be while in public. 

“Are you okay? You aren’t looking too good” 

“Yeah, I know, just a headache” He lied - it wasn’t just a headache.

“Are you sure?” Roman replied, clearly seeing through Virgil’s bullshit - he knew about most of his issues, hell, they grew up together, of course he did, and he oftentimes understood him better than Virgil could understand himself. 

“I’m fine, Roman, it’s just a cold or something” Virgil replied, and their arms were touching now, and his hand twitched, reaching to hold Roman’s, only to go back to sitting limply at his side. Virgil put his hands in his pockets. He hoped that no one saw that - and rationally, he knew that no one, probably not even Roman noticed that, but he couldn’t help but feel as if everyone’s eyes were on him. 

Roman shot him a look, one that meant that he wasn’t going to give up on this, and then sighed. 

The bell rang, cutting their very brief conversation short before it could become more than a simple greeting, signaling that their school day had officially begun. They started to walk towards the school together, and Roman spoke again “Just, take care of yourself, okay?”   
“I’ll try to” 

They entered the school, and Roman looked around them briefly to make sure that no one was specifically paying attention to them, and pulled Virgil into a quick hug - cutting it short almost as fast as it had happened, both not to make Virgil anxious about the people around them and also not to make them stand out too much or make themselves become a target for anything malicious. 

“I’ll see you after school, okay? We’ll take the bus together” Roman said, starting to walk away, not leaving any room for Virgil to reply - not that he would’ve said no anyway.

Virgil walked to class silently. 

He got to class, and checked his phone one last time before putting it away for class. He had one single notification, from just two minutes prior - a text from Roman, a simple “I love you” with a red heart. He sent a text back, another “I love you” followed by two hearts - purple, instead of red. He meant it. He meant it with everything he had, and he hoped that Roman understood that.

The rest - well, most of - his day went by in a blur. He had gotten used to his routine - he sat in the back of every class, pretending to pay attention, then changing classes, and repeating it over and over and over again, always the same, never changing. 

The rain had stopped by the time lunchtime came by for Virgil, and he sat in a hidden corner of the school’s backyard - where he was sure people didn’t look, and in the two years he had been hiding there no one had even so much as looked his way - the damp ground under him freezing, a cigarette in his hand. He sat there, and smoked, he sat there even when his cigarette was long gone, scribbling shit on his hands with a black pen, headphones in and the music turned up loud. 

He was alone. Roman had another lunch period, and he didn’t feel like sitting in a cafeteria full of people that either didn’t care about him or actively decided to despise him. 

He didn’t eat, he wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t - even though that was a lie and he knew it, but he kept on repeating it like a mantra no matter what. The thought of eating made his empty stomach flip. 

He lit another cigarette, and another one, and another,and another one after that. 

He was fine, though. 

The bell rang again, and he made his way to class once more, for the last time that day. 

“Do you want me to come over and stay with you?” Roman asked Virgil. They were waiting for the bus together, after school had ended. They were standing close - as close as Virgil dared to - just like before earlier that day, their hands brushing together.

“I don’t know, Ro, I’m not feeling great.” Virgil replied “Plus my mom is going to be home, and don’t you have stuff to do today anyway? Like rehearsing or something?” 

“No” Roman said “Well, yes, but I don’t think the world is going to end if I skip one day of rehearsing. You’re more important than a stupid play. And you can come over to mine” 

Virgil sighed, and nodded “I’ll come over then” 

The bus pulled up at their stop and they got on, and sat together in a couple of the seats at the back - Virgil in the seat near the window, as always. 

They shared Virgil’s headphones all the time it took them to get to Roman’s house, and Virgil felt at peace, oddly enough. The throbbing headache and the cold that clung to his body were still there, but he felt calmer, safer, just because of Roman’s presence. 

They got to Roman’s house, and they went into his room - and seriously, Virgil loves this place, much more than any other probably; everything from the posters and photos on the walls, to the fairy lights that hung above Roman’s bed. 

They both took off their backpacks, and pushed them against the wall near the door, and Roman slipped out of the dark red hoodie he had been wearing - they had taken their jackets and shoes off before going into the room - revealing a simple white shirt under it. 

Roman shut the door behind them, and as soon as he did that Virgil threw himself into his arms, and hid his face into his neck

“I’ve been wanting to hold you for so long.” Virgil said, as Roman reciprocated his hug, squeezing him hard to his chest “I missed this so much” 

“I love you” Roman said, his voice a little muffled because of Virgil’s shoulder - their height difference made it so that Roman’s face was at about that height. 

“I love you too. So, so much”

They stayed like that for a while, holding each other close, so close that Virgil could feel the rise and fall of Roman’s chest as he breathed almost as if it were his own. He finally felt at ease, for the first time that day, for the first time that week. 

“Love,” Roman started, using the pet name that he knew made Virgil the happiest, and pulled back from the hug the slightest bit, so that he could look at Virgil’s face “Can I kiss you” 

Virgil smiled the slightest bit - no matter how many times he had told Roman that he didn’t have to ask, not every time, especially not if they were already in each other’s space like they were in that moment - and leaned in. The kiss was brief, but sweet, and Virgil’s smile was even wider when they pulled back from it. 

“So, what do you want to do” Roman asked Virgil, finally letting go of him, only to drag him towards his bed, and they both sat on the edge of it. 

“I don’t know, can we cuddle? Or nap, even? Something like that” Virgil replied shyly, all of a sudden almost ashamed to ask for affection from his boyfriend. 

Roman smiled “Yeah, that’s nice” and he let himself fall back on his bed.

“Can we talk, first, though?” 

“Yeah, is everything okay?” 

“ I lied earlier today.” Virgil said. “I wasn’t okay” 

“I know that” Roman replied, looking up at him, and took his hand into his “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Yeah, I guess” 

Roman didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hand tighter, and waited for him to speak. 

“It’s just getting bad again. Like really fucking bad. And i guess that I should’ve expected that, because it’s always like this, but I still feel like shit. I think I smoked something like half a pack today. Probably more” Virgil said, and he didn’t even know why he decided to just suddenly open up to Roman like this, but it just felt right to him “And it’s just one of those days, you know. I don’t want to say it but you know what’s on my mind” 

He felt like dying. He didn’t want to say it out loud, make it more real than it already was, and the atmosphere shifted to something heavier. Roman sat up, and looked at him. He just looked.

Tears started to well up in Virgil’s eyes, and he cursed himself for ruining everything, for being a burden, for wasting Roman’s time like that, he hated that he had decided to speak about his shitty problems and just ruin everything, because he always did and he was nothing more than waste of fucking space, a useless human being and everyone would just be better if he just killed himself, if he just decided to end it all and he was only a fucking mistake, a fag, a freak who kissed boys. 

He took a deep breath, and a tear fell down his cheek, followed by another and another. He was crying - fucking perfect, Virgil thought, and wiped his tears away with the sleeve of his hoodie, and his hands still shook, and he was so cold. 

Roman sat up, and held Virgil in his arms again, and just let him cry on his shoulder. He held him, and kissed the top of his head, and did everything he could do to calm him down. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Virgil said, his voice thick and strained. 

“It’s okay” 

“You shouldn’t have to see me like this”

“I don’t care, Virge” Roman replied “I love you, okay? I love you” 

“I’m fucking scared. I’m so scared” 

“I know. I’m scared too.” 

They ended up both lying down, Roman with his head on Virgil’s chest, their hands entwined, resting on Virgil’s stomach, Roman’s laptop near them, playing Steven Universe’s first episode. They were at peace, and Virgil’s anxiety had dimmed down significantly, letting him relax, if only for a little while. He was still hurting, his head still throbbed painfully, and he was still cold - despite the fact that Roman was almost fully lying on him, and that they were under one of Roman’s fluffy blankets - but he was significantly better than before. 

He wasn’t alright, but he was going to be.


End file.
